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by Potrix



Series: Unpredictable [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Companionship, Developing Relationship, Gen, Growing Up, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Nilfgaard, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 01, Post-War, Slice of Life, Snippets, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: Most everyone lives their entire life without ever once encountering a Witcher and considers it a blessing.Erion makes a Witcher’s acquaintance the winter before his fifteenth year.It doesn’t feel like misfortune to him.(People felt like Erion from chapter 5 ofDeardeserves a happy ending. I agree.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Unpredictable [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593292
Comments: 281
Kudos: 2306





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**Author's Note:**

> I got so many encouraging comments about Erion that I just couldn't resist writing a little something about him. *throws OCs at everyone*

Most everyone lives their entire life without ever once encountering a Witcher and considers it a blessing. 

Erion makes a Witcher’s acquaintance the winter before his fifteenth year. 

It doesn’t feel like misfortune to him.

*

Nilfgaard’s armies draw ever closer and it’s soon apparent that their town won’t be spared. 

The women and children are sent North in search of safety and shelter while the men ready themselves for battle. 

Erion has just reached his sixteenth year. 

He heads South. 

*

There is nothing left for Erion to return to. 

Everyone he’s known is either gone or scattered. 

Erion wanders. 

*

Hunting keeps his belly full and selling furs makes sure his weapons stay sharp and tuned.

If it isn’t the cold that wakes him, it’s the dreams. 

*

Erion barely has time to jump back out of the way before the fiend leaps out of the bushes with a deafening roar. There’s a man hot on its heels, covered in blood but sword still raised high.

The fiend is hurt, clearly struggling, but the man is also flagging.

When the fiend whirls and pins the man, Erion doesn’t hesitate. 

His dagger finds its target easily, embedding itself in the fiend’s third eye. 

The fiend screeches mightily and its legs buckle. The man rams his sword through its head. 

The man’s eyes are black when he hands Erion back his dagger. “Smart move, kid.” 

“It’s Erion.” 

One corner of the man’s mouth twitches up ever so slightly. “Ragnar.” 

Erion is in his seventeenth year when he meets his second Witcher. 

* 

Ragnar doesn’t ask him to leave so Erion doesn’t. 

*

“Again,” Ragnar barks and Erion can feel his sharp gaze on his trembling hands as he picks the sword back up. “Duck, roll. Don’t drop it this time.” 

Without another word, Ragnar attacks. 

Erion ducks, rolls, loses his balance for a second, but steadies himself a moment later and springs back to his feet. 

Ragnar gives him a small nod. “Again.” 

* 

“Re—rebis and, uh,” Erion stammers, fumbling with the cork of the small vial. “Rebis and ca—caelum. And, and, uh—”

Ragnar grabs Erion by the chin, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes. “Focus. Golden Oriole. Ingredients, now.” 

“Please, Ragnar, I—” Erion chokes out and finally manages to get the vial open. He lets out a frustrated, scared wail when Ragnar circles immovable fingers around his wrist before Erion can tip the potion into his mouth. “You’re hurt, please, let me—”

“Focus, Erion!”

Closing his eyes, Erion takes a shaky breath, trying to calm his wildly beating heart. “Rebis and caelum and—and vermilion!”

Ragnar opens his mouth. 

Erion sobs as he carefully feeds him the potion, then collapses against Ragnar’s chest, shoulders shaking. 

After a moment, Ragnar’s hand comes up the cup the back of Erion’s head. 

*

Erion knows what people think when they see his fine features, his pale skin, his bright blue eyes, his golden curls; pretty. 

Women coo over him. 

Men watch him.

Erion watches the men back. 

*

Erion knows that Ragnar knows. 

He must smell it when Erion slinks back into their room late at night, reeking of sweat and musk and sex. He must see the marks on Erion’s neck and the occasional bruises on Erion’s hips. 

Ragnar never says a word about it. 

Erion wishes he would. 

*

“Erion.” 

Ragnar’s voice is warning, though not forbidding. Encouraged, Erion lifts the edge of the blanket higher and wiggles closer until he’s pressed up tight against Ragnar’s side. He noses at Ragnar’s throat, traces his lips across the scar on his shoulder, licks over his collarbone—

“Ssh,” Ragnar murmurs and it’s only then Erion notices he’s shaking. Cheeks heating, Erion goes to pull back, but Ragnar makes a sound deep in his chest and holds him close. He brushes a fleeting kiss over the top of Erion’s head. “Sleep.” 

*

“Menace,” Ragnar grumbles when Erion cranes his neck to kiss behind his ear, but one of his hands leaves Aramis’ reins to settle on Erion’s stomach.

Erion smiles and closes his eyes. 

*

“Kaer Morhen, this winter, I think,” Ragnar says over the fire one night. He’s staring off into the dark of the night, mind clearly somewhere far away. “It’s been near a decade since I’ve been back.” 

Erion swallows a bite of rabbit. “Do you miss it?” 

Ragnar hums. “Yes. No.” He sighs and blinks, glancing over at Erion. “Parts of it.” 

“But it’s home,” Erion guesses. 

“It’s home.” 

Ragnar holds out an arm and Erion goes, letting him hold on tight.

*

They lose Aramis to a broken leg on the journey through Kaedwen. 

By the time they reach Kaer Morhen, Erion hasn’t felt his toes in days and his stomach has given up on rumbling. 

The old Witcher that greets them at the gate looks Erion up and down assessingly, then slaps the back of Ragnar’s head. 

In all the time they’ve travelled together, Erion’s never seen Ragnar look sheepish. His laugh is raspy from a persistent cough but genuine and it makes the old Witcher’s eyes narrow. 

“Put the boy in some warmer clothes and get him a bowl of soup, you damned fool.”

“Yes, Vesemir,” Ragnar mumbles, ducking his head. 

Erion has to bite his lip to keep himself from grinning. 

*

“You,” a voice startles Erion into looking up from his book, “I know you!” 

The library, much like anywhere else in the keep, is always dim and Erion squints for a moment before his eyes widen in recognition. “Jaskier!” 

He drops his book and scrambles upright and nearly stumbles into Jaskier’s arms, tucking his face against Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“We heard,” Jaskier whispers, hugging him tightly, “about Nilfgaard taking your town. Was there anyone else—”

He cuts himself off when Erion shakes his head with a sniffle. “Sorry,” Erion whispers as he moves back, wiping at his eyes. “It’s been years, I—”

Jaskier’s hands cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing away his tears. His smile is gentle and understanding. 

“Erion.” Ragnar’s tone is cold as the winter outside, lip curled back into a sneer. At Jaskier he growls, “Let him go. Right now.”

Jaskier quirks an entirely unimpressed eyebrow. Erion suddenly, vividly remembers Jaskier’s disturbing lack of self-preservation instincts. 

“Ragnar, it’s—”

“Jaskier, come here.” 

Geralt is glowering at Ragnar from the doorway and Ragnar is glaring back equally as venomously. 

It’s Jaskier, of course, who’s the first to speak again. “Geralt, look,” he swivels Erion’s face in Geralt’s direction, beaming and ignoring Ragnar’s bared teeth, “look who I found!” 

Geralt tilts his head. Then, after a moment, he smiles ever so faintly. “We wondered what might’ve happened to you.” 

“Will you,” Ragnar breathes out harshly, “let fucking go of him already.”

Geralt narrows his eyes and takes a menacing step towards Ragnar. 

Jaskier rolls his eyes and lets go of Erion’s face. Instead, he grabs his hand and tugs. “Come on, leave them to their posturing. It’s how they say hello. That, or punching each other. Let’s go see if Vesemir is hiding cake away in his study again.”

“Jaskier!” Geralt barks at the same time as Ragnar snaps, “Erion!” 

Jaskier winks at Erion and starts running. 

Erion follows, giggling giddily. 

*

Erion is in his twenty-first year when his beloved Witcher meets his first Witcher.

It goes reasonably well.

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com).


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